


turn on the light

by ionica01



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Magic, keith is oblivious not stupid, klance, lance is a dork it's canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 19:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18857200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionica01/pseuds/ionica01
Summary: "Do you believe in magic?"Keith begins to understand what magic is - not because he's piloting a giant lion to defend the universe, but because Lance is stubborn.





	turn on the light

“Do you believe in magic?”

“No.”

It ought to have stopped there. Lance was supposed to drop the issue after Keith’s voice came out sharp around the edges and go back to pestering Pidge and Hunk about the seemingly endless resources of green goo the castle was armed with - a topic that intrigued Keith enough to keep an ear trained on their conversation, but not enough to actively participate in it. Lance was supposed to forget about it, like he had forgotten about their bonding moment and countless other things involving Keith, and Keith was supposed to continue planning an attack on a Galra fleet with Shiro.

And for the moment, that’s exactly what happens. Lance’s nose crinkles and Keith can practically  _ hear _ the “Lame!” that’s written all over his face, but he shrugs it off and focuses back on the screen. It’s just another question buried beneath a mountain of Lance-things, as Keith has dubbed these inexplicable interactions, filing them away in a corner of his mind that he tends to avoid, for the sake of his sanity.

In the background, Pidge starts rambling about interdimensional storage, eliciting a loud (and quite dramatic, but then again, what  _ isn’t  _ dramatic when Lance is involved?) groan from the guy. Shiro’s voice tunes out the disturbance, and Keith plunges back into planning mode.

***

It’s an ordinary day - well, as ordinary as space gets.

Keith wakes up to alarms blaring overhead, red lights flashing dangerously in his room. He’s halfway through putting his fight suit on when Pidge’s voice blasts out the loudspeakers, informing them that there was no attack - apart from her curiosity getting the better of her and prodding her to try a new virus, that is. Turns out geniuses have their mishaps, too.

Keith feels the tension in his muscles nonetheless. He’s wide awake now, with no idea whether he got what Coran deems “an appropriate amount of sleep” given the complete and utter lack of clocks in space. Still, his body is throbbing for exercise, so he grabs his bayard and makes for the training grounds.

Most days, he’s so busy being a paladin, or the head of Voltron, or part of the Blade of Marmora that he forgets what being  _ Keith _ actually entails. He’s closest to remembering it when he fights, when his body tingles with the adrenaline rush and he feels his breath hitch in his chest, when he’s so utterly exhausted that he can’t muster the energy to become a paladin or a Galra fighter.

Having to follow the drone’s every movement, to predict the unpredictable and turn the sword into an extension of his hand doesn’t allow him to get engulfed by the thoughts that daunt him. With the dull pain echoing in his muscles, Keith remembers that he’s wearing his own skin, and it doesn’t feel heavy for once.

When the doors glide, Keith purposely avoids looking behind. It’s probably Coran or Allura, coming to drag him to breakfast and lecture him on how he shouldn’t exhaust himself. (“You’re not alone anymore, Keith. You’re part of the  _ team  _ now, and your actions affect us all.” He  _ knows _ , which is exactly why he needs these sessions. He bites his lip and tunes the lectures out.)

To his surprise, the footsteps don’t match the Alteans’ light gait, neither do they have the deep echo that Shiro’s do. Instead, the sound seems somewhat muffled, like the person’s putting pressure on their toes instead of the heel and Keith’s stomach churns, because he know only one man who’d-

“Man,  _ how  _ do you have so much energy at the break of dawn?”

Yup, it’s Lance.

In all his sleepy glory and caught mid-yawn, Lance leans back against the wall as Keith pauses the training session. “Technically, there  _ is _ no dawn,” he deadpans.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Truly an epiphany,” the paladin retorts, kicking himself off the wall. His bayard turns into a sword matching Keith’s - sine when can he even  _ do _ that? - and he smirks smugly. “Mind if I join?”

Keith quirks an eyebrow. The training room is  _ his _ space - everyone has subconsciously and unanimously labeled it as such. Apart from team sessions and one-off individual training, Keith is the one sparring with the drones, and no one barges in on him - unless it’s meal time, in which case all activities must be dropped at once and everyone quietly blesses Hunk and his superhuman skills of turning plain, endless space goo into fancy dishes. (If you ask Keith, his skills are even more of a mystery than the bottomless reservoir of green oddities.)

Lance asking to train with him is, thus, unexpected - some might even say out of character. It implies that he’s either a) a cocky bastard trying to piss him off and challenge him at his own game or b) genuinely interested in spending time with Keith and deepening their bond.

The correct answer is a no-brainer, which is precisely why Keith nods with a similar smirk on his face. “I won’t go easy on you.”

Lance’s face lights up with something that could be determination or delight, or maybe a combination of both - as if he’s been waiting for this challenge. When their swords collide with a screeching sound, his smirk grows and he pulls back, aiming for Keith’s legs. Keith deflects and strikes for Lance’s unguarded right, only for his opponent’s blade to be there without delay, resisting Keith’s attack.

Lance’s movements are unexpectedly fluid and he ducks with a speed that can only mean Lance is reading his pattern. He meets each thrust with equal power and strikes back just as fast. Keith feels beads of sweat race down the back of his neck and adrenaline rush through his veins.

To shake things up, Keith takes a step back and lunges again, waiting until the last moment to change course from Lance’s shoulder to his chest. This time, he manages to break through Lance’s defences and knocks him off balance for a split second - just enough to sweep him off his feet and straddle his chest with his knees.

“Checkmate,” Keith pants, his mouth hovering over Lance’s as a victorious grin curls around his lips. Somehow, defeating him feels much more satisfying than winning against a drone, especially when Lance’s chest is still heaving in an attempt to catch his breath.

It’s then that Keith realizes just how close they are, how Lance’s fingers are clenched around his wrist from when they fell over and his cheeks tainted rose from the effort. From this distance, Keith can tell that Lance has freckles - a whole constellation of them, clustering around his nose in an almost endearing way.

Keith watches the sweat run down Lance’s temples and over the curve of his high cheekbones, notices the tick in his jaw that allows him to wear that trademark cocky expression, and thinks this may be dangerous territory to track. His fingers twitch to run over the smooth skin, and he tightens them around the soft cotton of Lance’s shirt.

“Man,” Lance whistles, and the moment is over just like that. Keith shakes himself out of it and stands up, offering Lance a hand to drag him along. To his surprise, Lance accepts without scoffing. “You’re really good,” he says and it sounds so genuine that it catches Keith off guard.

“You too,” Keith awkwardly manages, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t know you could wield a sword.”

The cocky smirk is back. It sends Keith’s heart racing, but not in the “I want to punch you  _ so  _ badly” way he’s accustomed to. It’s both odd and worryingly comfortable.

“I got some practice,” Lance says, trying so hard to sound nonchalant that it’s anything but. “ _ Now _ do you believe in magic?”

Keith blinks. Hazily, he remembers Lance asking him that before and wonders if this entire sparring session was nothing but an elaborate buildup to this question - it sounds over the top, which makes it all the more plausible. A chuckle rises up his throat and Keith can’t stamp it out in time.

Lance’s eyes grow larger, as if hearing Keith laugh is rarer than a meteorite shower - which, given that they’re travelling through space, is probably the case. Before he can make a big deal about this and waltz into the dining area bragging about how “I made Keith -  _ stoic, unmovable Keith - _ laugh!”, Keith clears his throat and crosses his arms.

“No, but I believe in hard work.”

Lance scoffs now, rolling his eyes as if Keith is just  _ so _ predictable. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun,” Keith counters. “Also, this was my win.” Which tips the balance even more in Keith’s favor, with a score of 37-33 (not that he’s counting).

Lance’s face morphs into a grimace. “I demand a rematch!” he calls, right before his stomach growls loudly. “After breakfast,” he mumbles, face red - this time, from embarrassment.

It makes Keith chuckle again, but he makes no attempt to stifle it this time.

***

It slips into routine.

They never openly arrange anything, but each morning, Keith will hear footsteps padding towards the training room, and the door will open to reveal Lance, bayard already in hand and lopsided grin stretching his lips impossibly wide. Despite himself, Keith grins right back when Lance proudly declares, “Today is the day I defeat you.”

And some days, he does. These are the days Lance acts obnoxiously almighty, to the point where Keith will ask for the salt at dinner and Lance, trademark toothy smirk and fluttering eyelashes, will put on a  _ terrible _ act of innocence and say, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my epicness.” Keith elbows him, Lance groans, Pidge and Hunk roll their eyes as if this is getting old already, Shiro sighs like the tired father he is and Allura giggles but pretends to act all angry.

It’s so eerily natural that at some point, Keith starts unconsciously referring to these days as “Lance moments” instead of “annoying Lance moments”. How the error in labelling happened, he can’t quite explain, but he’s dead set on getting to the bottom of it. While he’s at it, he should also investigate the heat that creeps up his neck and the unhealthy gymnastics his insides perform more and more often in Lance’s company.

Some days, they race to the hangar after practice, trying to trip each other on the way. Lance laughs, that heartfelt sound that makes Keith’s skin crawl in the best possible way and worms a string of chuckles out of him. In those moments, Lance looks at him almost fondly, and Keith can’t help but laugh even harder, until the walls echo with the sound of his voice.

It makes him feel a bit more like  _ Keith _ , despite his fingers not being clasped around the hilt of a dagger.

And then other days, they go to the space mall.

“That looks  _ so _ cool!” Lance says for like the tenth time, tugging on Keith’s sleeve to drag him towards another obscure shop selling the strange occultic stuff Lance is so enamoured with.

“What’s with you and magic?” Keith asks, genuinely curious as to why they’re spending this once a month opportunity to buy food other than goo (and gawk at a sharp blade or two on the way) in front of crystal balls and obviously fake wands.

Lance gives him a starry eyed look, cutting the sharp responses off Keith’s tongue. “Because it’s  _ so cool _ ,” he says with the certainty of a scientist that has just cured cancer.

“Cool?” Keith repeats, somewhat lost. “You’re obsessed with magic because it’s  _ cool _ .”

“You just don’t get it!” Lance groans, looking like a pouty five-year old that has just been told his favourite Power Ranger is lame. “Magic is like,  _ unexplainable _ .” Keith is sure his arched eyebrow is enough of a question, for Lance groans some more (adding an eye roll - you know, for good measure) and runs a hand through his somehow perfect hair.

“Okay, look,” Lance tries again, pointing towards the wooden wands neatly stacked on a shelf that says, “100% CONFIRMED TO WORK”, only making the nature of said magical items even skatchier. “These are probably fake,” he concedes.

“Probably?” Keith huffs, making Lance roll his eyes yet again.

“ _ Not _ the point. The  _ point  _ is that magic exists as long as someone believes in it. These are wooden sticks-” Lance bends one in his hands to prove his point, and tosses it right back on the shelf when it cracks menacingly and the vendor side eyes them “-but the fact that people believe in them grants them power.  _ That _ is magic.”

“The placebo effect?” Keith cocks his head.

Lance just rolls his eyes again - Keith wonders if the back of his mind is actually painted by Michelangelo, and if Lance does that just to analyse the intriguing image stuck in there - and grabs Keith’s wrist, pulling him away and towards the supermarket where they should be. “I’m never opening my soul to you ever again,” he mumbles, but it sounds less angry and more fondly exasperated.

Keith finds himself fighting back a smile as he lets Lance guide them through the crowds.

***

Beautiful.

When the word creeps into his brain, Keith isn’t sure whether he’s using it to describe the view or the way it reflects in Lance’s eyes. There’s something about the excitement Lance is practically radiating that makes the meteors shine even brighter, something about his smile that makes it seem like he painted the sky in hues of blue and dark purple and is now admiring the beauty of his creation.

Keith can’t look away.

He kind of knows what this warm feeling blooming in his chest is - he is oblivious, not  _ stupid _ \- but in this very moment, he finds himself blanketed in a calmness that’s mostly foreign to him. It’s a welcomed change.

Lance whirls his head around and grins widely, pointing at the shower with an excitement that far exceeds the joy of winning a sparring match against Keith. It’s as if he doesn’t see meteor showers every so often, as if he doesn’t pilot a giant lion and eat space goo for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s childish and endearing, the way he beams with unbound delight, and Keith finds himself thinking this may be the magic Lance has been eating his ear off about.

“Wow!” Lance eloquently manages - for about the 5th time since they came up on the deck, but there’s really not much else to say. “I know we travel between galaxies, but  _ this _ ,” he says, gesturing to everything surrounding them, his pointer hovering in front of Keith for a moment before he lowers it. “This is still incredible.”

“We’re paladins of Voltron,” Keith offers as an explanation, as if he isn’t just as befuddled about their situation.

“I know, I know. Man, let me have my epiphany in peace, you killjoy.” A chuckle mellows the statement, and it vibrates through Lance like his whole body is made out of laughter.

And that’s when it spills over.

(In retrospect, Keith thinks it all started the moment Lance barged in on his training session, carving his own place in Keith’s life, to the point where Lance not being there is  _ lonely _ . Which is ridiculous, because Keith lived in a shack in the literal dessert, but then again, Lance is ridiculous.)

Keith kisses Lance.

He just leans over, catches a glance of Lance’s eyes widening in surprise, and presses his lips to his. It’s easy, and Lance’s lips are soft - damn him and his self care masks, Keith is sure his are chapped and dry - and Keith is kissing Lance.

He pulls away before Lance really has a chance to react. It’s in times like these that Keith wishes he listened to Shiro and formulated an actual  _ plan _ before diving into action.

Averting his eyes, Keith scans his surroundings, gauging the quickest escape route, and then wishing a hole would just open up in the ground and swallow him whole. Spare him the confused stare trained on him as he runs away and the following embarrassment.

Except his body can’t move, because Lance’s fingers curl around the sleeve of his shirt, and Keith suddenly can’t  _ think. _ “Keith,” is all Lance says, but it’s laced with so many feelings Keith can’t seem to be able to pinpoint. “Keith.” His name sounds foreign to his own ears when Lance says it. He can’t look at Lance. “ _ Keith. _ ”

“What?” Keith snaps, like the suave talker he is. Lance’s eyes are no longer focused on the arrows of light scrawling on the dark canvas of the night sky. Instead, he’s looking at Keith with a muddy expression that he can’t quite make out, emotions and thoughts woven together in a tangled mess.

“That’s my line.” Lance yanks Keith closer, fisting his fingers in his shirt, like he’s preparing to punch Keith-

And then Lance is kissing him, fists bunched in his collar and eyes forcefully shut close. Lance is kissing Keith, and Keith kisses him back.

His hand slides around Lance’s face and his fingers track his high cheekbones, mapping every inch of skin and committing it to memory like he’s been wanting to do for so long, sinking in Lance’s short hair and running around his earshell, running along his jaw and tipping it up to deepen the kiss.

Heat rushes to his cheeks and his breath catches in his throat, but it’s an entirely different feeling from training with a drone. His hands ache to touch more, his lips move with an urgency that matches Lance’s, his heartbeat tunes out the sound of his erratic breath.

“I like you,” slips out of his mouth as soon as Lance’s lips free his.

Lance blinks. Keith can pinpoint the exact moment when the words sink in, because Lance’s mouth curls into a smile, and Keith kisses him again just to feel the curve of it under his lips.

_ Do you believe in magic? _

Yeah, Keith thinks. He might.

Not that Lance needs to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I haven't written klance in what feels like FOREVER, and with Voltron's ending I had some apprehensions to write them again, but I just couldn't stand away. Klance is an incredible pairing, and I don't think I can do them justice, but here I am, trying anyway. Thanks for reading!


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